


Try Me

by cdra



Series: Kinktober 2019 [6]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Alcohol, Competition, Drunk Sex, Facials, Incredibly Stupid Boys, Kinktober 2019, M/M, double blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 15:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/cdra
Summary: A few too many drinks, a few too many bad suggestions, and Innes's undying competitive spirit toward Ephraim—it's a recipe for some kind of night, that's for sure.[Kinktober Day 6 - Cock Worship]





	Try Me

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6: Corset | Cock Worship | Biting | Sexual Frustration
> 
> This was originally supposed to be a much bigger idea that still involved Innes sucking dick but I decided I was tired so I wrote this horrifically embarrassing shit instead. I have a few regrets,

Innes would be ashamed to recount how they got to this point—were he able to recall half of that process at all, he expects he would be doubly so. Roped first into drinking more than his share (“Lighten up, Prince, it’s a celebration!” Gerik had said), then into that inane conversation (Innes rightly couldn’t care less who’d slept with who and how many women or men), and then somehow—_somehow_, it always comes back to Ephraim, doesn’t it? Ephraim, and the way he can’t keep his head straight when it comes to Ephraim—combine it with inebriation, and you have a fine enough recipe for disaster.

Only a disaster of some caliber could find Innes on his knees willingly, side-by-side with Ephraim—and much more so, to speak of two princes (well, Ephraim is king now, but Innes is not so far from his throne either—not that he envies Ephraim’s position) kneeling for a mercenary. Gerik, for his part, lounges comfortably, his chin tilted up just a little (and at just the wrong angle, because he’s not any more sober than Innes but probably in better control of that fact), watching his former employer with an annoying-satisfied smirk.

“You gonna chicken out already, Prince?” he drawls a little too casually as he lazily strokes his exposed, erect cock. Oh, he knows Innes hates a challenge—hates, and loves in equal measure—and considering there’s too much alcohol in his brain to tell him that a competition in _giving head_ is too ridiculous for someone of his station, it easily has the intended effect.

It doesn’t help that Ephraim, without a hint of shame (almost like he doesn’t see why he should find this shameful at all—maybe he doesn’t), is already closing in over Gerik’s lap, not the type to hesitate at all even when he’s fully sober.

“As if,” Innes quips blurily, arching forward after Ephraim as he tries to both not look at Gerik’s face but _also _not look at his dick—he ends up looking at Ephraim, who’s a bit too flush-faced and smug as he takes Gerik’s cock in hand. He breathes against hard flesh as he catches Innes’s stupefied gaze; a fire lights in his gut and before Ephraim can say anything, Innes surges up to meet him, their faces inches apart and the mercenary’s cock between them.

By the saints, the positioning is awkward. Being this close to Ephraim is bad enough, but he can feel the heat of Gerik’s flesh as he steadies himself on the larger man’s knee; Gerik chuckles, and Innes casts him a glare. “Don’t say a word—you should be thankful, getting this kind of treatment from…”

“Hey now, when did I sound like I was complaining?”

He didn’t, but that doesn’t annoy Innes any less. Ephraim laughs and when Innes looks at him, he’s got his lower lip between his teeth and it really, _really _shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “Weren’t you the one who started all this, Innes?” Ephraim mumbles hazily, “It’s not like you to start something without finishing it.”

“You assume I won’t?” Innes huffs, offended, but he determines it better to put his mouth where his… mouth is, than to entertain this taunting. He breathes in deeply and takes his tongue to the side of Gerik’s shaft; it’s a bit hard to get a good angle, when Ephraim’s hand is there and he’s so eagerly rising to Innes’s ante as well, his lips on the opposite side of Gerik’s cock.

Gerik groans, definitely too satisfied, but he just leans back and lets his hands rest at his sides; it wouldn’t be proper for him to interfere, since he’s the one judging their performance in this fool contest.

There’s too much going on, and it makes Innes feel clumsy as he simply tries to work around Ephraim as they both blow Gerik haphazardly—but that won’t do, he realizes in the throbbing cotton-fuzz of his thoughts. He takes charge instead, forcing his way upward so he can take the head of Gerik’s cock into his mouth. Gerik hums an “oh?” as he watches, languidly; Ephraim adapts with relative ease, taking to the base of the shaft instead.

Innes has to grab harder at Gerik’s legs to steady himself against the strong taste and the spinning feeling in his skull. Ephraim mouths at the man’s balls for a moment before nudging Innes aside to take his place—Innes gives an offended sound at his pattern being broken, but he understands that it’s only fair. They have to take turns, or it won’t be a proper contest—but that just means he can’t wane in his enthusiasm, either.

Ephraim’s saliva lingers under Innes’s tongue as he works his way downward; he thinks that should bother him more than it does. He keeps at his ministrations with fiery, competitive vigor; once he determines he’s given Ephraim enough time, Innes butts his way upward, as well, and it leaves the two of them at eye-level once again, breathing heavily with Gerik’s shaft the only thing separating their lips from each other.

The look on Ephraim’s face is like that of a satisfied cat that’s gotten into catnip—definitely intoxicated, but completely pleased with himself for it. A growl rumbles in Innes’s throat and he mouths all the more aggressively at Gerik for his irritation; Ephraim almost seems to purr as he follows suit. Gerik doesn’t say anything, but Innes can hear his breathing as it picks up; he’s definitely having too much fun.

His lips meet Ephraim’s as they circle Gerik’s shaft, and Innes can’t resist the impulse to bite his rival’s lip—which Ephraim seems to _like_, if the sound he gives is any indication. Ephraim’s easily distracted, in his drunken haze; his hand is around the back of Innes’s neck before he can protest, and his tongue is pushing its way between Innes’s lips just as fast. An indignant noise catches in Innes’s throat, but before he can think about it, he’s got a fistful of Ephraim’s hair and is kissing back with fire.

The salty taste of Gerik is heavy on Ephraim’s tongue, too—Innes pulls away to breathe after a too-long, half-melted moment, and his shoulders heave as he gasps. Ephraim chuckles smugly against Innes’s mouth; “I got distracted; apologies.” He’s not really sorry, and Innes knows it.

“Oh? You like that sort of thing?” the Frelian prince slurs, his hand still tangled in Ephraim’s hair as he cuts his gaze up toward Gerik’s face, unamused despite the heat in it. “Then I suppose it’s fine.” He glances back at Ephraim, whose eyes are lidded and blown and his lips are curled in a catlike smirk as he licks them clean. Infuriating, actually.

Innes releases his grip on Ephraim’s hair and redoubles his efforts, though he’s not allowed to get Gerik inside his mouth with Ephraim insistently following his motions. It seems to be working, one way or another, because Gerik’s dick throbs and his breathing picks up once more; Ephraim moans, too, and it lights something aflame in Innes’s gut that he doesn’t quite know how to process.

“Hey, y’all might want to get back,” Gerik breathes, settling a hand on Innes’s shoulder. “Much as I’d like to make a mess of your pretty faces, I also don’t want you pissed at me for it.” Innes obliges the remark and pulls away, but Ephraim doesn’t, reckless as ever—and Innes’s half-sane, competitive spirit won’t let Ephraim get the edge like that, so against his better judgement, he dives forward once more, tongue against the underside of Gerik’s dick as he gives a resigned groan.

The regret only hits Innes when Gerik’s orgasm does; he jerks back as white stains his face, a bit catching in his bangs. Ephraim’s no better either, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat as he pants with cum on his face, but he doesn’t seem quite as disgusted as Innes feels.

Gerik laughs again and shakes his head. “I warned you; you can’t blame me now.”

Innes wipes some of the release from his chin as he glares upward, though he knows being annoyed is futile. “So? Which of us is more skilled?”

“You’re still on about that?” Gerik frowns a bit, but it’s a wry look, like he was expecting it and is more amused than bothered. “Huh… I dunno. It was kinda hard to tell with both of you on my dick like that.”

Ephraim leans on the mercenarie’s knee, casting Innes a sloppy, all-too-knowing smirk. “Then I guess we have to go another round, don’t we?”

“Fine. But pay attention, this time,” Innes acquiesces with a sigh; this is going to be a hell of a night, isn’t it?


End file.
